


Conversation Pieces

by RyeBread



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Draven is a ManChild, Established Relationship, Hurt feelings, M/M, Taric is capable of rational thought in a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeBread/pseuds/RyeBread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taric manages to offend Draven by making an off-hand comment about his own father. He then takes the time to learn how he had offended him and how to make it better. Darius provides assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversation Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno where this all came from, but yeah, no porn in this one. Go read my other Draven/Taric fics for that. Or future fics, probably.

Taric found himself sharing his couch more frequently than he had ever anticipated he would after being transported to Valoran. He couldn’t say it was an annoyance, in fact he rather liked not being alone. Of all the personalities that could have been keeping him company on his sofa, though, Draven’s outgoing vigor never struck him as one to be complacent laying across plush cushions and a single man’s lap. Surprises were everywhere in this new world. Taric scratched at the man's scalp absently. Draven hummed appreciatively, going noticeably limper across the couch. He folded his hands over his stomach and closed his eyes. Taric smiled, carding his fingers through Draven's hair for a few moments. "Draven?"

"Yeah," came the low reply, Draven tilting his head without opening his eyes.

"Why do you come here so often?"

"If you don't want a stray cat to come back, don't feed it."

"I didn't say I minded," Taric chuckled. "It's just... curious to me that you are so content to laze about on my couch."

"Even a man as glorious as I needs a break, babe. Gotta pull that Draaaaven energy back in. It takes some doing to get those crowds pumped."

"I would have pegged you as someone who drew energy from the crowds."

"You pegged me a few days ago," Draven smirked, somehow managing a wink without opening his eyes.

Taric sighed, still massaging Draven's head. "You might not be as extroverted as I thought, but you are just as oversexed as I feared."

"Aw, come on, you know you love it."

"Again, not complaining, just observing."

"Observe your way down to a chest massage then, throwing those axes around left my pecs knotted up more than Nasus' dick."

"Ugh, why," Taric cringed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why would you put that picture in my head."

Draven laughed heartily, "Yeah, that's pretty sick. Dog-dick. Anywho, am I getting that tit-rub or not?"

Taric rolled his eyes, but slid over on the couch, hitching Draven up between his legs so he had his head beneath Taric's chin with Taric's knees on either side of his waist. "As you wish."

Draven sighed in contentment as Taric pushed his fingertips into the packed muscle of his chest, feeling about for tension. His thumbs rubbed circles in the stretch of tendons from Draven's chest to his shoulders, pushing in hard enough to draw a small hiss of pain as they worked out the stress. "How are you so good at this?"

Taric chewed the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on a particularly stubborn knot, the fibers of muscle having gotten caught sliding over each other and contributing to the tension. "I was trained as a healer on my home plane," Taric reminded him. "In my culture, that includes physical, intimate treatments such as massage, acupuncture, chiropractics, and - of course - hot stone treatment."

"Do you - ah, fuck, knot - do you ever miss doing all that?"

"I'm doing it now, aren't I?" Taric smirked at the light pop of the undone knot. He applied tender pressure over the sore area. "I keep in practice enough that dad won't be spinning in his grave."

"I thought your dad was still alive?"

"I wouldn't know," Taric muttered, marginally uncomfortable. "It's easier to assume he's gone, I'm never going to see him again."

"You don't know that," Draven argued, unusually hostile.

"Draven," Taric began, delicately, "I have come to terms with the fact that I am never going home. My father is dead to me."

"Dead to you isn't dead for real," Draven snarled, sitting up. "Tomorrow you could get a message from the Institute telling you they found a way back."

"You are getting worked up over nothing," Taric said, reaching out to touch Draven's shoulder. "If you tense up after what I've done you'll wind up with worse knots than before."

Draven shrugged him off, standing up. "I'll keep that in mind," he sneered. "I've got places to be."

"Alright," Taric said, putting his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture. "I'm sorry, I can see that I have offended you."

Draven slid his shoes on at the door, "I'm going to see if there are any new death-row prisoners back home in Noxus. It's been too long since my last show. See you in a few days."

"I have a match tomorrow," Taric reminded him.

"You're a good support, you'll be fine."

Taric tried to figure out where he had gone out of line as Draven shut his door more harshly than he was comfortable with. It hardly seemed an illogical thing to do - treat a lost relative as though they were well and truly gone. Draven was, despite all evidence to the contrary, a complicated man.

Taric found himself preparing for the match with a bit of apprehension. Well, a bit more apprehension than normal. Allowing yourself to be controlled by your summoner was an odd experience. You were still aware of what you were doing and, unless you were especially observant, it almost felt like each action you made was your own. The mind magic used by summoners was well within most ethical standards. No combatants were truly harmed once the match ended, all injuries repaired and all deaths reversed. Even when you were up against yourself, it was more that one was merely an illusion, like a training exercise.

No, his apprehension came from the fact that Draven chose to be far away during this match, he would not be watching and rooting for Taric, he would not be there to tell him he did well regardless of his actual performance, and he would not keep him company the night after. Taric focused on breathing and letting his logic keep him determined. He had obviously slighted Draven, this was a deliberate move to hurt him the same way he felt wronged. It was effective, but Draven knew that it would be. They were even now, by Taric's reasoning, but if he wanted to keep from starting another petty fight he needed to know what he had done wrong.

As luck would have it, Darius was his top lane this match. There would be no time to talk with him now, not during the match itself, but afterward he should be approachable. Taric ambled onto the summoning platform, Ezreal joining him as his Marksman. Darius took his position as well, with Lux and Jarvan following last. The composition suited the spectator sport aspect, but threw country allegiances out the window. Good thing for mind magic and mystical prevention of friendly fire.

The transportation to the rift itself felt very similar to how it felt to be ripped from his home world, like there was a painless hook behind his navel that was yanking him through space. There was a moment of time as his summoner purchased augmentations in the form of items that were not really physical items Taric carried as much as representations of changes made to his stats and abilities.

Laning went fairly smoothly, with Ezreal easily outplaying the opposing Varus. The summoner must have developed a very strong grasp of Ezreal's abilities to create such an easy and fluid connection between them. Taric could feel his own summoner had some difficulties in his own powers and the limitations place on him by the Institute made it somewhat difficult for new users to adapt to. He could feel the nagging urge to heal Ezreal, but with his mana so low he was unable to. It wasn't his urge, though Taric most definitely would have wanted to heal the boy outside of the control, which made it so unsettling.

Taric did his best to just go with the flow of battle, stunning, healing, and - when necessary - going in for the kill. Lux proved triumphant against the Void creature Vel'Koz, and successfully prevented a series of ambushes from the jungle when Udyr rushed out at her. Darius couldn't compete with Jayce, though. Jarvan did his best to compensate, but there was only so much he could do, and it was likely killing the prince inside to be assisting the general of an army that had killed countless Demacian men. Decisive victory came when the link between the opposing support - Soraka - and her summoner was severed. It was a painful sensation, having that bond cut for whatever reason, but more painful was the rules regarding a disconnect. The champion who realized they were no longer bound to a summoner was required to retreat to base, using no defensive or offensive abilities, on foot. It was generally considered poor sport to assault a retreating champion, but it seemed either Darius' frustration was bleeding through to his summoner or his summoner was simply unsportsmanlike.

From Taric's understanding, what the public viewed was an exaggerated yet censored version of events on the rift itself. The reality of seeing Darius lunge toward someone to bury the head of his ax in their back was much more gruesome. The speed at which he could repeat the action was unnatural, aided by summoning magic as a reward for a successful kill. With the entire enemy team down during a crucial fight near their inhibitor tower, it was simple enough to take the victory.

When the Purple Nexus began to shatter, Taric felt himself saying, "Gems, gems are truly outrageous. Truly, truly, truly outrageous."

The reverse process of teleporting home from the rift was much more seamless. All combatants returned to their platform back in the Institute of War, now free to do as they pleased. Ezreal immediately took off with Jayce, taking a telepad to Piltover. The others meandered around, scrounging about for friends or even admirers. Taric immediately directed his attention to Darius, however. The big man was wandering off alone, as per usual, so Taric took after him. His excuse being that neither of them had the luxury of fighting in their street clothes so they would both have to remove their armor in what amounted to the locker rooms. Jarvan had a royal escort to take care of his.

"Darius," Taric called, stepping into the room with the general.

He paused, facing Taric before sitting on the bench and beginning to remove the massive shoulder guards he wore. "Gem Knight."

"You may call me Taric, you know. Congratulations on the victory."

"It wasn't an honorable victory, but seeing as we are now just little action figures until the next decisive match for a border conflict, I suppose it will have to do." Darius set his shoulder pads on the bench. "What do you need."

"I was hoping to talk with you about Draven," Taric ventured, taking a seat opposite Darius to begin removing his own armor. Unlike Darius', which made some sense in terms of how the pieces for together, Taric's armor was so encrusted with gems that it was significantly more difficult to unclasp. He tried to maintain a calm demeanor as he fiddled with the straps keeping the arm guard attached. "I fear I have offended him."

"People do that," Darius grunted. "How'd you manage it? Of all the people he talks about, you seem to annoy him the least."

"He tells you about me? Never mind, sorry. I mentioned to him that I consider my father to be dead despite no concrete evidence to support it."

Darius sighed, sliding his chest piece off to reveal a sweat-soaked tank top. "Let me guess, instead of explaining why he disliked that coping mechanism, he left abruptly."

"You know your brother well."

"And despite whatever extracurricular activities you and he perform, you seem to be ignorant about several key parts of Draven's personality."

"I admit, I do not know his entire life story."

"We are orphans, Taric," Darius said flatly. "Our father is confirmed to be dead. We grew up without him. Draven has always been strangely sensitive about it."

"It's hardly strange to mourn a parent," Taric said.

"Draven was always a show off, and he's always found an excuse to be lazy. He let our parents' deaths break him at first. It was only when the executioner profession fell into his lap that he managed to make something of himself."

"You sound... bitter, Darius."

"If you want to know Draven better, just ask him literally anything and I can promise you he would be glad to explain it to you."

"I seem to have offended you as well."

Darius took a breath, slipping a pair of pants on and throwing a towel over his shoulders. "I took care of the both of us, I joined the military as soon as I was able. Draven has always been too self-centered. On a battlefield, you need to stand your ground with your team beside you and trust you stand as one. I got Draven the position of executioner because he would have gotten himself killed on his first battle."

"I appreciate your insight," Taric said, easing his boots off, "but I was hoping to learn why he was so off-put by my sentiment toward my father."

Darius gave Taric a calculating look. An epiphany seemed to strike him as his gaze softened before returning to stoicism. "What does death mean where you come from, Taric?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The afterlife, what does that consist of where you come from?"

"It is a belief held by many from my world, though not all, that when one dies, your soul passes through to the core of our world, fueling the fires of our vast volcanoes, contributing to the heat and pressure that creates our prized minerals. Some hold that the more perfect and vibrant the stone, the stronger the soul used to create it. The wise form emeralds that stimulate insight, the peaceful make opals that shine with all the other gem colors, even the lustful and adventurous contribute their passions in creating rubies."

Darius laughed, then, but Taric stifled his indignance to give the man a chance to explain himself. He quelled his laughter quickly and stepped around behind Taric to help him out of the cumbersome breastplate. He grunted in response to Taric's muttered thanks. "Noxus has a less... Optimistic view of death and all its forms. Many religions have existed across Valoran, and Runeterra in general. Ours, the one we were raised with, has no such niceties associated with death. You do what you can in life, as long as you can, and hope to die valiantly."

"That is a distressingly bleak way to view the world," Taric whispered, shrugging out of his chainmail vest. "I didn't know."

"Draven knew you didn't know, I'm sure," Darius said, placing the massive armor set into the wardrobe where it would be stored until Taric next needed it. "Try explaining yourself when you get the chance. He could use an admonishment."

Taric put his civilian clothes on quickly, following Darius out. "I don't suppose you could ask him if he would come see me when he returns?"

"He'll be back at your place soon enough. Draven actually likes you."

"What about you?"

"I am a busy man with a great number of people relying on me, but from what Draven goes on with, I would assume I would like you just fine."

"You could always get to know me yourself and form an opinion that way."

"Draven gets possessive." Darius walked a bit faster, making it fairly clear the conversation was running its course.

"I am not propositioning you," Taric said flatly. "Honestly, I'm gay not a slut."

"When we were starving in the streets, Draven would refuse to share food sometimes because it wasn't only his. I would kill someone for saying this about him, but he is a stubborn asshole and if he even thought you were sleeping with me, he would pitch the biggest temper tantrum in front of my military superiors. He has done it before."

"He doesn't own me," Taric protested.

"Are you propositioning me now?"

"No! I mean, no offense, but you are a bit too far on the mountain side of man-mountain."

"Despite your general aesthetic, you are too far on the male side of female."

"You would be surprised how many people feel that way at first," Taric said nonchalantly, but let the subject drop. "Thank you, though, for your counsel."

"Draven likes you."

"I know."

Darius left for the Noxian embassy, leaving Taric to see himself home. It was three days before the opportunity presented itself for Taric to make a move in the right direction. Draven's return from Noxus was met with the expected level of fanfare from his admirers; so it was not with surprise that Taric responded to the knock on his door late on the night of his return. Draven stood in the doorway, as boisterous as usual with not so much as a frown to indicate he was still resentful.

"I'm back, baby," Draven announced, brushing past Taric to make himself at home. "I knew a few shows would put me back in the right mood."

Taric bustled to the kitchen to get two wine glasses. "Welcome back," Taric greeted over his shoulder. "White or red to celebrate your maintained popularity?"

"Seen enough red, let's get some whites up in here."

"Fair enough," Taric said, pulling the bottle from his cupboard. A bejeweled corkscrew had the top off the wine bottle in just a few seconds. Taric walked back into the sitting room with the glasses and the bottle to where Draven had sprawled along the sofa. Draven dutifully moved his legs so Taric could sit beside him.

"I heard you won," Draven said, accepting his glass.

"Mmm," Taric hummed in acknowledgment. He paused, swirling his wine in his glass. "I spoke with your brother."

Draven, for once, said nothing.

Undaunted, Taric continued. "Firstly, I want to apologize for having gravely offended you before you left. It was my fault for being ignorant to Noxian views of the afterlife and the significance of death for your people."

"It's nothing," Draven muttered, leaning back into the cushions.

"It certainly is not," Taric argued. "You have lost your parents when they did nothing to earn or deserve it, when you did nothing."

"Listen, that was a long time ago," Draven said dismissively. "Darius and I are grown up and made our way."

"Did you know Darius is the only person whose name you say first when mentioning yourself in a group?"

Draven held up a hand and opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly witty, but halted and considered. He lowered his hand and closed his mouth.

"Your brother cares about you, even if you annoy him sometimes. I can tell that you love him very much."

"Gay."

Taric sighed, sipping from his glass. "Would you like to know why I prefer to think of my father as dead?"

Draven drained his glass and poured himself another. "Yeah, let's hear it."

"Where I come from, since as you well know I am an actual alien to you. Where I'm from, death is not something we fear, nor is it something that we dread. That might be misleading," Taric corrected himself. "There is still crime, still pain and murder, still capital punishment. Death is something to be respected in my land. To bring it unjustly to another is a grave offense, as there was so much more for them to do while living that they cannot do dead. That is what we mourn when we grieve, the wasted potential. I hope that my father, where ever he might rest now, has come to the end of his potential, so that he does not need to grieve for me now that I am gone from him. If he is dead then it is our belief that his soul has gone to the center of our planet, as fuel for the great furnace. The magma that flows through our world is believed to be created by the intense energy of the souls that have migrated there." 

"Heimer might have a few words for you."

"Heimerdinger might shove it. Not everyone shares this belief, and those who do believe in it follow it to varying degrees. Regardless, it is a comfort in believing that the souls of our loved ones have passed on to continue doing something. That is partially why I became so interested in the magic of gems. My mother passed on in giving me life. She was a peaceful woman, a healer like my father. She was said to be even better at the craft than he was. My father would tell me that someone as peaceful and calm as she would create the purest of opals. He too was peaceful, but more insightful in his methods. I believe he would go on to create flawless emeralds in death."

Draven sipped at his wine. "What do you think my parents would have made?"

"I do not know," Taric admitted. "Describe them for me."

"I don't..." Draven swallowed hard then cleared his throat with a harsh laugh, "I don't remember them! Fuck me, right?"

"You have to remember something," Taric encouraged, gently. "At the least I am sure Darius told you stories."

"They were military," Draven said. "Honor for Noxus and all that."

"Topaz is said to be made with valor," Taric offered. "Or Diamond for strength."

"Those sound nice," Draven said, now interested. "What about me, huh? What would Draaaaven make?"

"Ruby," Taric answered quickly.

"Oh baby, you know me so well."

"I am trying harder every day."

Draven finished his second glass and put it down. "You didn't have to talk to Darius, you know."

"I thought he might know you better than anyone else," Taric said. "He was quite helpful in helping to pin down what I had done wrong."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

"Suddenly humble? Careful, Draven, you might be losing your edge."

"Oh please, everyone knows they can't do anything worth getting Draven. I'm wondering what I did to get you, since you - obviously - have low enough standards to be won over."

"If you would like me to be perfectly honest-"

"Duh."

"Then I suppose you were the first to treat me with a semblance of respect, in your own bizarre way. Despite your joking and teasing, or rather, because of your teasing. I am a person to you, not a strange creature from another world. Sometimes I feel others see me as no different from Vel'Koz."

"I'll be honest, I've considered fucking the tentacle monster."

"Thank you for that, Draven."

"Hey, if we're being honest."

Taric just threw back his head and laughed. He put aside his glass and planted a soft kiss on Draven's cheek. "You are special to me."

"You want to fool around?"

"No, not tonight. I don't think you really do either. You put on a heavy mask, Draven. Let's just try sitting in tonight."

Draven muttered a half-hearted protest, but quieted when Taric began petting him along the top of his head, carding Draven's hair through his fingers to scratch at his scalp gently. He would have objected to it if it didn't feel so soothing. He closed his eyes, the warmth of the wine and the room and Taric's body lulling him gently into a half-slumber, his shoulder's slumping and the act of sitting upright becoming a chore. Taric accommodated the deadweight, letting Draven splay out in his lap. Eventually the pressure on his thighs have way to the tell-tale tingling in Taric's feet, however.

"Mind moving to the bed?"

"'M comfortable," Draven argued, blindly groping around for Taric's wrist and directing the hand back to his head.

"My legs are falling asleep."

"I'm falling asleep, Mr. Touchy-Feely."

"Well, I suppose I'll have to carry you like a child," Taric said, rolling his eyes. He hooked an arm under Draven's knees and the other supporting his shoulders and stood up with a grunt of exertion.

Draven reflexively clutched around Taric's neck at being bodily heaved into the air. "Well, if I'm a child then you've fucked a minor and I'm telling Vi and Caitlin."

"I'm not going to drop you, you weigh less than my hammer," Taric said. "And I am pretty sure man-children are still legally of age."

"You don't know that, you sick freak."

"I suppose I don't."

Draven eased his hold on Taric's neck, letting himself enjoy the majesty of being carried into the bedroom like a bride - only everyone knew Draven wore the pants in this relationship. A hidden desire to be treated softly and held tightly didn't change that one bit. Taric lowered him onto the bed, Draven muttering a complaint about the coolness of the comforter compared to how warm it had been at Taric's bosom.

"You are so high maintenance," Taric laughed, moving around the bed to sit at the foot of it. He pulled off Draven's shoes and socks, rolling the socks and placing the shoes by the door. He pulled on the cuffs of Draven's pants and the man dutifully hitched them off. As Taric folded them, Draven shed his sweater and burrowed into the covers.

"Hurry up, it's colder than Anivia's tits in here."

"Patience, patience," Taric scolded as he stripped down and pulled on his pajamas. He peeled back the comforter and slid in beside Draven. The other man quickly sidled up next to him, resting his cheek against the silk covered shoulder. Taric cupped Draven's face with his far hand and looked toward the ceiling. "Sleep well."

"I'm next to you, aren't I?" Draven patted Taric's stomach a few times then went still, breathing evenly.

Taric followed suit soon after, hoping his arm would not be too numb come morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing bothers me more than two people in an adult relationship that have no idea how to be actual adults when they hurt their partner's feelings.


End file.
